


lives painted in scars

by saltfics



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Kidnapping, Childhood Memories, Do I care? No., Gen, Hospital scene, How Do I Tag, Light Angst, Tied Up Together, Tumblr Prompt, Was it explicitly stated that no one had made an attempt on Henry's life before? Yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltfics/pseuds/saltfics
Summary: “Would you quit moving around?”“It’s not my fault we’re tied up together!”When their hospital visit ends in a way much different than either of them could have imagined, Alex and Henry go through some much needed bonding time in the midst of disaster.Maybe if he's nice, Alex can unlock level 1 of Henry's hidden backstory.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Arthur Fox
Comments: 16
Kudos: 167





	lives painted in scars

Henry has been missing for fifteen minutes now and though Alex is, in fact, very pleased not to see his face any more than he has to, if they’re not seen hanging out together as promised, Zahra will never let him hear the end of it. And it hasn’t been _that_ bad, all things considered. Sure, he’s still a boring, stiff, pretentious _dick,_ but apparently he has his depths. 

Depths might be too strong a word. Shallow pools of random humanizing facts that never made it to the info-sheet might be more accurate. Like the Star Wars thing. Why wasn’t _that_ mentioned anywhere?

But ever since he accidentally-or-not eavesdropped on that Star Wars conversation, Henry has been missing. It’s getting a bit annoying.

Alex goes through the hospital halls, smiling at whoever looks at him, trying not to let any irritation slip through. Like Henry needed to get more infuriating, now he’s making Alex look for him. It’s his country, so he’s probably fine, but it’s just _rude_ to leave his guest there all by his lonesome. Even if they don’t like each other. Where’s the famous British decorum? Fucker.

Within five minutes, Alex gets hopelessly lost, and his security team has been left where the two of them were supposed to be, too. He tries to search for a nurse nearby, but he seems to have wandered into a new wing of the hospital—either brand new or currently being remodeled. Either way, it’s all but empty at this time. Great.

He’s about to leave when he hears them. Voices. They’re too quiet to make out what they’re saying, but Alex swears one of them is Henry. What the hell is he doing all the way over here?

Without putting too much thought into it, and fully intending to diss him the moment he confirms the people in there with him are not reporters, Alex calls out to him, one hand on the door’s handle. “Henry?”

And it’s definitely Henry.

“Alex, get away from me.”

Alex freezes. His stomach twists with hurt as anger rushes through him. At Henry for being a complete and utter dick once more and at himself for being enough of an idiot to give him the benefit of the doubt. He doesn’t go away. He won’t do him the favor.

“You know what?” Alex snaps, turning the handle. “I’ve tried so hard to be nice to you—and here you are, once again being a complete ass for no apparent…” He trails off, eyes blown wide as he takes in the scene in front of him.

Two men are behind Henry, dressed in suits, and for a second they could be mistaken for a security team, if it weren’t for the way Henry stands, hands half raised and close to his head. Alex cannot see the back of Henry’s head from his vantage point, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s pointed at him. 

His expression makes him pause. Henry’s brows are furrowed, his lips tight and wobbly with concern rather than fear. He shoots an apologetic look at Alex, as if this whole thing is his fault.

And if the look didn’t make him pause, the second gun that’s now drawn and pointed towards Alex certainly does.

And here he thought England had better gun control.

* * *

“Would you quit moving around?”

“It’s not my fault we’re tied up together!” Alex protests, as Henry groans, shifting into a more comfortable position—or trying to, until it’s obvious that’s not going to be possible. The guns pointed at their backs did wonders for getting them both to stay quiet and compliant as they were led outside of the hospital, which somehow managed to be the most comfortable part of this exciting little road-trip. He and Henry are now tied up together, back to back in the cargo of a moving van, with a driver that doesn’t care that his two passengers were not provided with seat belts. If Henry’s elbow digs into his back one more time, Alex is going to find a way to sit on him.

“Actually, Alex, it kind of is. I told you to _leave_.”

“Oh, right. I was supposed to leave you alone with them, then?”

“Are you implying that you came here _voluntarily_ ?” Henry scoffs. “I apologize, I didn’t realize this was a bloody _rescue._ ”

“Oh, shut the fuck—”

“Because the way I saw it, you were just coming to yell at me and got yourself c—”

“Shut the fuck up, Henry!” He flinches at the sound of his own voice, cracking with emotion. Fuck. He knows. He knows that technically this is part of the deal. That people like him, with his position are in danger, but for all the briefings on the subject, it’s never been real before. Not _this_ real. He’s had Amy and Cash and other agents at his side.

Henry remains quiet for less than twenty seconds, before he states, “You’re scared.” His voice is softer now, quiet, just short of a whisper. He shifts against Alex, changing his position with gentler movements this time, but soon gives up and resumes the same stance.

“Of course, I’m scared!” Alex complains, the bite too weak to be properly mad. “How the hell are you _not_?”

“I…” Henry sighs. He leans against him whilst maintaining his own weight, their shoulders brushing against each other for the barest touch of comfort. “I’m sorry, Alex. You shouldn’t have been involved with this.”

“Why are you so calm about it?” He insists. “You shouldn’t be in this position either. You may be a prick, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” Henry asks instead. “What did I do to you?”

“I asked you a question first.”

“Answer me first and then I’ll tell you.”

“You got it backwards there, buddy.”

Henry exhales through his nose, the epitome of held back nerves, but then he relaxes slightly against him, admitting defeat. “Very well. But there’s not much to tell. I mean, I’ve known this could happen. The idea that someone might be after me has been prevalent in my life since the moment I learned what death is.”

Alex shakes his head, stretching his neck backwards, as if he could catch a glimpse of Henry that way. “Yeah, okay, but it’s different when it happens for real.” Isn’t it? It sure as hell feels different for Alex. And sure, Prince Charming over there might be perfect, but if he’s not at least a little shaken up about the prospect of dying, Alex might strangle him himself. “Show some emotion for once, your Highness, for fuck’s sake.”

Henry clears his throat, shifting once more and his voice sounds tenser when he speaks again. Quieter, too. Like he’s not sure he’s allowed to admit this. “I’m trying to keep calm for both of us. One of us should keep a level head.”

“Oh, did they teach you that in ‘how-not-to-get-assassinated 101'?”

“Yes… there too.”

“What does that mean?”

“I… I have some experience with… this.”

“What do you mean by ‘this’ and for the love of everything, don’t say ‘getting kidnapped’.”

Henry chuckles, and it comes out dry and awkward, drained of any humor. “Not kidnapped, no. But, err, someone has tried to kill me before.”

A vile taste forms in Alex’s mouth, and he swallows it down but it gets stuck there on his throat, palpable as he breathes. While Alex’s mind can’t properly wrap around the idea, his body reacts to it, his legs drawing closer to him as a shiver runs down his spine. He feels Henry’s steady weight against his back, and he struggles to accept the truth of what he’s been told. _Someone tried to kill me before_.

“Your turn,” Henry says, voice small, uncomfortable with the way this conversation has turned. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“Are you actually not going to tell me more about it?”

Henry pauses. “Do you want to know?”

“Do you want to share?”

“Since when do you care what I want?”

“Henry.” The words still ring loud in his ears. He feels like he’s going to puke. “Come on.” And yeah, Alex can be mad at him for many things, but he’s not enough of a jerk to force that one.

Still, Henry takes a moment, lowers his head against Alex’s, hesitantly at first, then fully when the gesture elicits no protest. “My… my Dad and I… we went to this charity event once.” He pauses, as if he’s waiting for Alex to stop him. “I can’t even remember what it was about right now. Mom stayed with Philip and Bea. I think one of them was sick? And normally I would be bored, but Dad, he…” His voice crumbles, thickens with emotion, and Alex is at once both glad and disturbed to hear it displayed with such openness. “He knew I wouldn’t like it, so he kept me close by, didn’t let any people chatter with him for too long, played games with me and promised we’d be out of there soon.”

It feels blasphemous to stop him now, after listening to the reverence with which Henry spoke of his father. But his mouth runs faster than his mind. “Played with you? How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“ _Twelve_ ,” Alex repeats.

His mind flashes back to that magazine, to the easy confidence and sunshine-bright smile of a thirteen-year-old prince, and his stomach dips, a leaden weight placed on it. A year before, someone tried to kill him. And a younger Alex saw so many things in that magazine poster but he never quite grasped this. How many other things did he miss?

“Yes,” Henry confirms, and while his voice is painfully neutral, Alex can’t call it a lack of emotion at this point. He’s holding it back, drawing that curtain of disinterest Alex loathes so much over it, every time it tries to reveal itself and betray him. “So, uh… At some point the waiter comes by. A real charming guy, with the kind of friendly smile that makes you trust him. And he’s carrying this big tray full of champagne glasses for all the guests. And I’m—this will sound silly, I’m aware, but it made complete sense at the time, I promise,” Henry adds, and Alex can hear the slight embarrassment in his voice. He chuckles softly to ease some of it away. “I’m twelve and I’m bored beyond compare when everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves. So the waiter sees me and smiles that kind smile of his. ‘I’m sorry, your Highness,’ he says. ‘I’m afraid these are only for grown-ups. But if you give me a second, I can go get something more child-friendly for you.’”

“Henry…” Alex starts, uncertain of what he means to say.

“I know, I _know_ how utterly idiotic it was. I had been told time and time again by that point never to accept anything in such a manner. But he looked harmless and it seemed like such a good-hearted gesture at the time.” Henry hesitates again, as if to test the words in his own mind before he dares voice them. “See, at that age, no matter how often you get told people might be out for you, you can’t really grasp the concept that anyone truly means you harm. Not without reason.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Alex says, and he means it. He’s taken by the sound of Henry’s voice as he narrates, his accent softening the sharper edges of the words he speaks, and the quietness, careful like a whisper, masking its content with a soothing tone it doesn’t deserve. It makes it easier for Alex to distract himself from the visuals his imagination conjures for him, of a twelve-year-old child being tricked with such cruelty, just for having a name he didn’t choose for himself. He almost doesn’t want to hear the rest of it, but he’s led Henry down this path, so the least he can do is let him cross to the other side. “What happened?”

Henry sighs. They’re still leaning on each other; the feel of his shoulders shifting against Alex’s back makes him want to press himself closer. He still doesn’t like him much, but this vulnerability breaks some of the animosity between them. It sheds light on how many things Alex just _doesn’t know_. And he hates that they’re having this conversation, hates that he can’t even look at Henry as he speaks. Because Alex knows that whatever look he can’t see would promise him another mystery to solve, and it might entice him just enough to look for it.

“He was smart. He passed me a glass while carrying another tray of drinks, so it wouldn’t look too suspicious that he was handing me something. And… whatever was in it—you must forgive me, I don’t remember exactly what it was, though I’m certain they told me at one point—it took a while to act. Enough time for him to get out of there.”

Alex bites back the urge to pester him with questions, sensing Henry will tell him on his own if he leaves him enough time to process it first. But he doesn’t _care_ about the guy, even if he would be happier to know he’s rotting somewhere for what he did. He wants to know what happened to _Henry_.

“I don’t quite remember everything after that, so bear with me here. About… forty-five minutes later, maybe? I started feeling really sick. Dizziness, nausea, stomach cramps… the full package. It felt like the end of the world.”

“Weren’t you dying? It _was_ the end of the world.”

“Er, yes, I suppose that’s true. I started looking for—for my Dad, but I was so disoriented, I couldn’t find him, could barely see past my nose after a point. I—Either I passed out for a few seconds, or someone noticed and lowered me down, I don’t—The next thing I know, I’m on the floor, my head on some random rich lady’s lap who to this day I cannot name—but do not repeat that—” he adds, with some humor in his tone, enough to make Alex snort, “and... my Dad is standing over me, talking to me, trying to get me to respond. I don’t…. I don’t remember much from that point on, but I do remember Dad’s face.”

Alex doesn’t dare speak; he all but holds his breath at the sound of Henry’s voice. The softness coating the mention of his father is unlike anything Alex has ever heard from him, solemn and fragile, echoing slightly with a hundred things Alex doesn’t have the experience needed to name. He gets the sense he’s watching something unfold, beautiful yet delicate, so vulnerable it’ll break if he so much as breathes too harshly in its direction, all in the tremble of the voice of a man he thought robotic.

“I could tell he was scared. There was… You could see it in his eyes. But he kept his voice steady as he talked to me. It gave me something to hold on to, I think.” Henry clears his throat and straightens his back, killing whatever tenderness spread between them during the story. “Anyway. I woke up hours later in a hospital room and he apologized profusely for letting me out of his sight. He didn’t even lecture me.”

“Lucky,” Alex quips with a smile Henry can’t see.

“Well, _he_ didn’t. I got lectured, all right,” Henry laughs, the tension still heavy in his voice despite the mirth.

Silence stretches between them, too uncomfortable all of the sudden, when the moment left an invitation hanging in the air. For what, Alex isn’t sure, but he grabs onto it anyway. “So, that’s your argument for calm during stressful situations? I don’t think it works in this case.”

“ _Really_?” Henry says, drawing out the word for emphasis. With his accent, it sounds even more annoying. “Because correct me if I’m wrong, but I didn’t see you stress at all about our situation as I retold the story.”

Alex short-circuits for a moment.

Then…

“Oh, you _fucker_.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Was that story even true?” He blurts out, and regrets the words the moment they leave him. 

Henry deflates against him, the smugness at his achievement fading so fast, Alex can’t remember what it sounded like. “Yeah… Yes. It was.”

Alex fumbles for something to say. “Uh, okay. Let’s say you’re right. How do we keep talking—?”

“Why, Alexander, I never thought you could run out of words.” See, this is _entirely_ on Alex for ever thinking he should feel bad about this stupid prince.

“Listen here, you—”

The driver, of course, chooses then to take a particularly sudden turn. They’re both thrown to the side, and Alex hears a loud _thump_ of something hitting metal, before he lands on top of Henry. An elbow finds his ribs and he groans, loud enough to miss the beginning of a rather imaginative string of swear words for a prince. 

Alex blinks, not sure at which point during this madness he closed his eyes. He catches sight of the metal bench next to him and oh, that’s what that thump was. “Are you _okay_? Are you hurt?”

Henry moans as he shifts beneath him, and Alex scrambles to fall to the side so he’s not crushing him anymore. They adopt almost the same position as before, except now they’re lying down on the stained floor (and Alex will never ever question what’s it stained with). There’s no chance on this earth they’ll ever be able to coordinate themselves enough to sit up again. “My head is… uh… yes, that’s definitely bleeding, but it’s probably just a surface wound.”

“ _Fantastic_ ,” Alex huffs, making a wayward curl on his face bounce. “You know, this is your punishment for being a dick to me.”

“When was I dick to you again? And for that matter, I believe you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you hate me so much?” There’s a difference in his tone now; it’s less exasperated, and Alex thinks he might recognize a part of it from his storytelling voice, but he can’t quite place the emotion there.

But a deal is a deal. “Do you really not remember being a prick to me at the Olympics?” he asks, not even bothering to mask his annoyance that only builds up from there, because as it turns out Henry _doesn’t_ remember—oh, wait, even worse, he thought Alex didn’t _hear_ him. He’s determined to actually throw himself back on that royal bastard once again, putting all of his weight to it, when Henry… well, Henry says this:

“… But you’re right. I was a prick. It doesn’t excuse what I said, but my father had died fourteen months before, and it was the last place I wanted to be at the time. And I’m sorry.”

Alex thinks back to the day they’ve had. To the hospital—no, the _cancer_ ward they got picked from. To the sleeplessness the night before and the pills he saw him take that morning. Most of all, he thinks back to the story and tries to recall the unexpected fondness Henry let himself show when he spoke of his father. And it hits differently now, knowing what he knows. 

He thinks of the man who comforted Henry as he thought he might die after only twelve short years, of the man who was scared but came through, the one who apologized instead of reprimanding. And he tries to imagine how it might have felt, for that man to be taken from Henry’s life too soon, how adrift he must have been afterward. 

He can’t mirror that feeling, can’t grant it the shape nor the magnitude it deserves. Alex goes to quip but it snatches at the place where the story still lies in his mind. The sharper side to his words remains, yet what comes out holds a different undertone than he expects. “Well, we can’t expect you to be perfect all the time.”

He hears a scoff next to him, and Alex is glad Henry can’t see the hint of a smirk it brings. Just because there’s _some_ depth to this boring, spoiled royal doesn’t mean they’re friends now.

“Are you still bleeding?” he asks after some time.

“Head wounds bleed too much, it’s fine.”

“No offense, but if you have another fun personal anecdote about head wounds to back that shit up, keep it to yourself.”

The car screeches to a halt. Their center of gravity is too low this time for the jolt to do anything but slide them a little further down. It’s _disgusting,_ but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as head-butting a metal chair.

He guesses.

The back door of the van is thrown open and Alex squints against the sudden light. Hidden behind Alex, Henry can’t turn to see who’s there. Okay, maybe he can do the guy _one_ solid.

“Shaan, have I ever told you how utterly beautiful you are?” Alex laughs, loud and obnoxious, the relief rushing along with the fresh air in his lungs.

Cash and Shaan do quick work of their bindings, then quickly check them over for injuries, Shaan pressing his own handkerchief against the cut on Henry’s forehead. For the first time, Alex is glad he couldn’t see Henry from his vantage point before. Head wounds, as it turns out, do bleed too much and the sight would have skyrocketed his anxiety so hard, there wouldn’t be enough stories in the world to calm him down.

“Are you okay?” Cash asks again, redirecting Alex’s attention back from Henry’s predicament. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Alex sighs, the relief sapping away the last of his energy. “Really. We bonded and everything! Shared trauma and all that. Right, your Highness?”

The glare he receives would be comical, if it weren’t for the big red stain running over Henry’s brows. “Sure.”

Cash rolls his eyes. “Next time, just go to lunch.”

“Well, _who_ says that’s not where we were heading?”

* * *

When Alex returns from England, he can’t help but look up past issues of J14, search for that damn photo that took up so much of his mind during childhood. He tries to connect the image of that Henry to the one he knows. Places the knowledge of his childhood, and his dad, the little bits and pieces he’s been given in between. But there’s too much missing. Maybe this pretend friendship they’ll have to work to keep up will grant him more keys to try.

And when not too long later, June tells him she invited Henry to their New Year’s party, it takes him exactly three hours of painful, back-and-forth contemplation before he goes over to Amy and begs her to double check the background of all the people hired for the event.

Just in case.

  
  


Because, in all honesty, there’s _no_ way Alex would keep calm through _that_.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ... (seriously how do people even Alex?)
> 
> Anyhoo. This is a one-shot so I don't have a *lot* of things to say (lies).
> 
> First, if you didn't see it already, I have a new fic up! 'grow me a garden of roses' is a soon-to-be-angsty multichap and y'all, it's gotten *zero* love from this fandom, so if you haven't read it, go find it, and if you did and you liked it, please consider leaving a quick comment! If you did and you didn't like it... well... okay, that's fair. Thanks for reading, anyway ^^;
> 
> And second, the typical stuff really, find me @ saltfics on tumblr if you wanna chat and if you liked *this* fic too, let me know below ;) Till next time~!


End file.
